


Becoming Ivy, Becoming Thorns

by blaziken



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (assumed) one sided love, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, a happy ending I promise, mentions of inquisitor OC x Cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blaziken/pseuds/blaziken
Summary: Dorian Pavus begins coughing up flowers over The Iron Bull. He understands it, of course he does. But he ignores it as best as he can.He could endure. He had to. After all, The Iron Bull would never love him.---------------------------For the Adoribull Big Bang 2020!
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 109
Collections: The Adoribull Big Bang 2020





	1. Rapture and Regret

**Author's Note:**

> [Regina](https://nirvana-war-queen.tumblr.com/) did the wonderful art for this fic! I've embedded it into the work but you can find the images fullsize here: 

The first time Dorian Pavus coughs up petals, he is taken completely off guard. Not because he doesn’t know what is happening to him: every Mage who has received even the most basic of education knows of the disease. They know of the flowers that infect and grow and bloom within the lungs; of the vines that constrict and choke and threaten to cut off every breath. 

No, it isn’t that Dorian Pavus doesn’t understand _what_ is happening to him. 

He doesn’t understand _how._

This disease, the disease of petals and blooms and vines, is taught as if it’s something taboo in Tevinter. As if it is a myth, something that couldn’t _possibly_ happen to the esteemed Mages of the great Tevinter. After all, this disease is always tied to feelings of love that are not returned, and love has no place in the political hierarchy of Tevinter. 

Dorian Pavus knows exactly who these flowers are for, but he will choose to ignore the breathlessness and the burn in his lungs until they consume him. He loves The Iron Bull, but he knows deep in his heart and from the buds rooted in his lungs that The Iron Bull could never love him back. 

* * *

Dorian has always been obvious with his flirting, after all: flirting was safe, flirting was _easy_ . Dorian would flirt with anyone and everyone he could. Everyone assumes It was just part of his natural charm, and that was mostly the case. But Dorian used it as a mask as much as anything else, a safety net to hide his insecurities and his fears and everything else that came along with it. That and flirting was fun. He’d tested his luck with the Inquisitor from the very first time he’d met her and he was endlessly grateful that she not only didn’t mind it, but gave back as good as she got. It became quickly apparent that the two of them were becoming fast friends, and after she was there to witness the showdown with his Father in Redcliff, he was once again grateful that she not only accepted him, but she was downright _insistent_ that he didn’t change the way he was with her. He’d hoped she hadn’t thought he was leading her on, but from her small but very intense observations about one Commander Cullen, he could at least be certain that wasn’t the case. 

Whereas flirting with the Inquisitor was fun and safe, The Iron Bull was far from a safe choice for Dorian. The way Dorian’s gut clenched whenever Bull so much as looked at him was dangerous, and all Dorian could do was mask the feeling: feigning disgust and exasperation to cover the way his breath hitched and his face reddened. He knew he was only fooling himself though, Bull was Ben-Hassrath after all, an expert in the finer details of a person’s condition and body language. And he was relentless, it quickly became clear to Dorian that Bull knew exactly how attracted to him he was, and that was ultimately what cracked Dorian’s resolve. Bull would flirt and make crude comments whenever he could, and eventually started making comments under his breath for only Dorian to hear. 

It was one of these comments that eventually _shattered_ Dorian’s mask. They’d returned from a particularly gruelling mission, of which the Inquisitor had invited Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra along, and Maker knows the _bickering_ between those two was enough for Varric to fill another book with. It always served to lift Ffion’s mood, but Dorian was feeling particularly high strung: a run-in with a Venatori agent had left a sour taste in his mouth that he couldn’t quite shake for the rest of the mission, and was somewhat relieved to finally see the familiar walls of Skyrim. 

But he hadn’t counted on Bull having noticed him in that particular state. Dorian had bid goodnight to Ffion, and made his way to the kitchens to acquire some day-old bread and hard cheese, then seated himself in the dining hall to eat in solitude. He’d let his mind wander as he tucked into the wholly unfulfilling food and barely managed to suppress a jump at the voice behind him. 

“Y’know Dorian, there are easier ways to take your mind off things than stare longingly at a stale piece of bread.” 

Dorian took a moment to compose himself, then, with a scowl already set on his face, turned to face Bull and _oh Kaffas._ Bull was looming over him, his arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he looked down at Dorian, and Dorian felt his breath hitch and his gut clench. Dorian knew there was no way Bull missed that, but he still attempted to keep some measure of pride. 

“Oh? And what, pray tell, might they be?” Dorian knew it was a mistake to ask, considering the way Bull’s eyes darkened and he leaned down to close the distance between them.

“Come and share my bed, I can help you blow off steam.” Bull’s voice was low and inviting, and Dorian exhaled a measured breath, not trusting himself to respond. Bull gave him a knowing smile, then straightened up and left promptly, leaving Dorian alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t deny it any longer, every part of him yearned for Bull, and the larger man was certainly using it to his advantage. Dorian took a few breaths to calm himself, and to give some time so that it didn’t seem like he was practically chasing Bull (he was), then stood up quickly from the table, bread and cheese long forgotten. He didn’t allow himself much time to think about his actions, else he may back out at the last moment, and he knew he’d regret it if that happened, regardless of how much he’d been avoiding this, whatever _this_ was. 

He made his way quickly to Bull’s room, most of Skyhold was well enough asleep, but Dorian still didn’t want to be seen, not yet anyway. If anyone saw him approach Bull’s chambers at this hour, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out exactly what he was doing there, and Dorian didn’t quite feel like being the centre of that particular round of gossip, regardless of the fact he wouldn’t be ashamed of it. His sex life was one of the few things he’d decided to keep relatively private, and gossip spread like wildfire through Skyhold, and, granted, he was a large part of that particular problem. Thankfully there was barely anyone out at that time, and as he walked past the Herald's Rest, he was surprised at how quiet the Tavern was. Though, on a discreet peep through the window, he surmised that everyone had already passed out from being blackout drunk, if the many snoring heads on tables had anything to do with it. Dorian rolled his eyes at the scene and headed towards the staircase, taking a few more cautious looks around before knocking firmly on Bull’s door, not that he thought knocking was something Bull necessarily cared about, but Dorian couldn’t be so uncouth as to just waltz in like he owned the place. It didn’t take long for the door to open, though, and Dorian came face to face with Bull smiling down at him, his expression far warmer than Dorian was expecting. Despite himself, Dorian felt warmth in his chest and he smiled back. 

He should have realised sooner, though. That was the day the first seeds were sown in his chest. 

* * *

That night with Bull had been the best sex of his life, and Dorian tried his hardest not to become addicted. Not that he’d admit that to anyone, though, least of all Bull. He made sure to stagger his visits with him so as not to seem desperate, but the truth was, he felt _safe_ with Bull. That realisation was dangerous, though. Dorian craved Bull in a way he didn’t think was possible and he was sure Bull had picked up on it; the flirting during missions they were on together had increased: Ffion found it equal parts hilarious and endearing, and depending who else she decided to bring with them (namely Cassandra), found it embarrassing.

But, Dorian and Bull had made the deal that first night for it to be purely sex, with no strings attached, since that was how Bull was with everyone who shared his bed. And that arrangement worked perfectly for Dorian for a while: he’d go to Bull when he was feeling particularly high strung, or Bull would notice during a mission (or even during some free time in Skyhold) and would make the offer to Dorian himself. Dorian wouldn’t refuse, perhaps, deep down, he knew he couldn’t refuse, and that was the start of his downfall. 

A few weeks later, he’d begrudgingly agreed to join Ffion in the Herald's Rest, along with Sera, Bull, and the Chargers, for what was sure to be a night of heavy drinking (on their part), and heavy sighing (on Dorian’s part). This was true for the most: despite the Inquisitor's small elven frame, she could match her pints with almost anyone else on their table, save for Bull. But Bull was far more interested in something else that evening; from the table they had claimed for themselves, Dorian could spot Bull very obviously flirting with a very petite, _very clearly blushing_ barmaid, and he felt his breath catch in his chest. Their arrangement, like all the others Bull had, was purely a physical one, and Doran couldn’t grasp at why he felt so breathless at what he saw. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Bull prepare to take one of the barmaids to his bed, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but Dorian knew he couldn’t stay and watch any more. He stood suddenly, causing Ffion to jump and whack him on the arm, then said his goodbyes. 

“As much as I’d like to continue this drunken endeavour with you all, I’m afraid I won't be able to face the morning if I don’t get my beauty sleep.”

Ffion snorted at him, her cheeks rosy from the alcohol; a stark contrast to her blue eyes, blue vallaslin, and fluffy white hair. “You’re just afraid we’d get you too drunk and make you spill your dirty secrets.” 

“It would take more than one alcohol-fuelled escapade to pull all my dirty secrets, dearest _Inquisitor_ ,” he emphasised the last word in a way that made Ffion wrinkle her nose at him, “We _Vint mages_ have an awful lot of them, you see.” He made an over-exaggerated wink at her and Sera, then turned on his heel and promptly exited the Tavern, smiling at himself as he heard Sera shout after him.

“I knew it!” 

Despite appearances, Dorian’s mind was in turmoil, he wasn’t necessarily sure of what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t pleasant. The tightness in his chest was insistent, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep yet, so he gathered his thoughts and headed to his nook in the library. There was no one around on his floor of the Tower, which he was grateful for: It meant he didn’t have to try and purposefully avoid anyone as he tried to work through the pain in his chest. He picked up a random book from his piles, not interested in the topic, he just needed to pick something to help him work through the clouding in his mind. Before he sat in his armchair, he glanced out of the window and, _oh,_ that was a terrible idea. From his vantage point in the Library, he had a very clear view of the Herald's Rest, the staircase leading up to the higher tier of the fortress, and, of Bull’s door. Dorian saw very clearly Bull push open his door, and slap the arse of the barmaid he’d been speaking to, encouraging her inside. 

Dorian felt the ache in his chest constrict painfully, and as he dropped himself down into his armchair, a tickle at the back of his throat caused him to close his eyes and launch into a coughing fit. Though, he knew something wasn’t right. There was a feeling against his fingers that was foreign, it was soft and silky, and as he opened his eyes, he was greeted with a flutter of yellow hyacinth petals, some in his hands, a few lingering on his chest piece, and a scattering of them on the floor in front of him. He laughed weakly to himself as he felt his breathing eased slightly for the first time in days, and gripped his hands weakly into fists. He stared down at the petals littered on the floor and cursed them silently; of course he knew what they were, they were a twisted reminder of who he was. They mocked him silently, a spray of jealousy over the floor of his quiet corner, proving to him once again why it was wrong of him to ever _want_ anything in his life. He clenched his jaw and tried not to think about what these petals meant for him, so instead, he bent down and gathered them all up, igniting the hand clutching petals as he did, then followed suit with the rest of them scattered over the floor. He burnt them into dust, just as Bull's image was burnt into his mind.

He could endure. He had to. After all, The Iron Bull would never love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers referenced in this chapter & their meaning:
> 
> Yellow hyacinth - Jealousy


	2. Bloom for You

Dorian tried desperately to ignore the seeds and blooms he knew were now rooted in his chest, but he was struggling _more_ with how to act around the Bull than he was with concealing his flowers. The morning after his first petals was the most confusing for him: Bull commented something completely ordinary and Dorian had no idea how to respond. _Him! Dorian Pavus!_ It was a struggle for him to even choke out a witty retort that morning, after all the realizations he'd had to come to terms with, so he did the unthinkable. He ran. He turned very promptly on his heel away from Bull and fled to his quarters, coughing up an embarrassing freesia bloom into his palm. _'Even my lungs think I'm being childish, traitors,'_ he thought to himself as he pushed open his door, and burned the flower in his hand as he had that previous night. He knew he wouldn't be able to destroy his evidence every time, but it was certainly cathartic to do so. Regardless of the implications behind it.

He'd seated himself in the chair to the side of his chambers and had tried to focus on one of the few books he'd kept in his room, most of them on the study of Necromancy. He and Ffion were the only two mages of that persuasion (that he knew of) inside Skyhold, so it was far easier to ask any of the other Mages to come directly to him for any questions they might have on the matter. That, and it made sure people weren't studying it for the wrong reasons. Not that there was a particularly right way to use it, but it kept it away from distrustful hands at least. He was finally getting _somewhere_ with his reading when there came a knock at the door, and Dorian froze. He wasn't necessarily _avoiding_ anyone, at least that's what he tried to reason with himself. He didn't have a chance to call out to whoever was on the other side, though, before Ffion's familiar white mop was poking itself through the gap as she cracked open the door.

"Can I come in?" She smiled sheepishly at him for the interruption, but he waved her in without a second thought. The Inquisitor at least was the preferable choice of company at that moment.

"What can I do for you? If you're here for a hangover cure I'm afraid all I can offer you is a clip around the ear."

Ffion rolled her eyes at him and stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind her, before practically throwing herself on his bed.

"Come on in, make yourself comfortable, why don't you," he said sarcastically under his breath, but she rolled her eyes at him.

"As if you'd say no to me, Dor." She flashed him a dazzling smile and adjusted herself on his bed, so that her head was hanging down over the side, to look at him upside down.

"Does _Commander Cullen_ know about this side of you yet? Or are you still just the great and powerful _Lady Inquisitor_ to him?"

Ffion clicked her tongue and rolled over onto her front to glare at him, and Dorian matched her glare with a smirk. "You're so mean Dorian," she paused in thought for a moment, then pouted at him, "Though I'd rather him keep thinking I'm serious for now, he'll learn what I'm really like eventually."

"At least he knows you're actually smart, unlike the majority of Skyhold, and, well, the world."

"That comes with the territory of being Dalish, Dor. Everyone who looks at me sees whatever random prejudice they have against Elves. I know you get it the same, being a _nasty Vint_ after all. I don't mind it though, it'll probably cause me more trouble in the future when things get even more political, if that's even possible. But at least I have the element of surprise and can whip out a 'hey actually I know what I'm talking about, bet you feel stupid now, right!' I can already _taste_ their expressions. I bet Sera would love to see it."

" _I_ can already feel Josephine drafting up some more Orlesian manners lessons if you keep that up." Dorian was grateful for the conversation: his mind already felt far less tumultuous than it had that morning, but he had a feeling Ffion wasn't just there to make idle chatter. "Was there something you needed me for, Ffion? Not that I don't enjoy your company, but it feels like you had another objective with your visit?"

Ffion stared at him for a moment, very clearly having forgotten she was there for something other than to wind Dorian up. "Oh! Yes! Two things, actually. First I need to apologise for my state last night. Sera is not a good influence on me—"

"I could have told you that."

"—and I may have had one... three more ales that I probably should have. So no more heavy drinking for me for a while. The other thing is more business. We're heading out to the Western Approach in a few weeks, and I want you to come, if that's alright? We'll be gone from Skyhold for a little while most probably, so there's a few things I want to do around Crestwood and the Hinterlands first, if you're happy to join me there, too? "

"Who else are you inviting to the Western Approach with you?"

Ffion scratched her head in thought, "Bull, and probably Cole. Does that make a difference to your decision?"

Dorian hesitated for a moment, the thought of spending that much time both in a sand-covered wasteland, _and_ that much time with Bull made his stomach churn and his chest clench, but the alternative was staying in Skyhold on his own and he wasn't much fond of that idea either. "No no, just curious. Of course I'll join you, I'm sure you'd be lost without me anyway."

Ffion shot him a beaming smile as she rolled off the bed and all but jumped into his lap to hug him, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad you agreed, I didn't want to have to use my Inquisitor voice on you." She extracted herself back out of his lap and headed towards the door, "I'll get things organised then, we'll leave for Crestwood the day after tomorrow, nothing too strenuous. I hope. Just some cleanup. Probably."

"My dear, you instil me with _so_ much confidence. Perhaps one day you'll go on to lead a resistance army against the forces of darkness."

"Who in Thedas would elect me to do that? They'd have to be mad." She poked her tongue out at him then turned to skip towards the door. "Don't read too hard, and get some more sleep. You look shite. Love you, bye!" She blew him a kiss from the door as she opened it, then shut it promptly behind her, not giving him time to respond to her japes.

He smiled back at the door and felt a tickle in his throat, and after he coughed roughly, he opened his palm to a small rhododendron bud. _'So now my body is warning me against bad decisions? This almost feels like a betrayal.'_ Strangely, though, he didn't feel the need to burn that particular flower to dust. _'Perhaps it will serve as some twisted omen,'_ he thought to himself and placed the bud on his side table. _'I'm almost curious if you'll bloom, even outside my chest. Maybe you will, after I most certainly will make more bad decisions.’_

* * *

The few weeks leading up to their departure to the Western Approach were tiring for Dorian. They'd spent the majority of their time in Crestwood, closing up the last of the rifts they'd been forced to leave, tying up a few favours and making sure Ffion kept her word with everything she'd agreed to. Not that Dorian thought anyone would particularly mind these menial tasks taking a little longer to complete: Maker _knows_ the people of Crestwood should be able to complete these _very simple tasks_ themselves, but Dorian knew the Inquisitor enough to know she'd accept anything and everything people asked of her. Regardless of the protests Dorian shot her way.

But what was making it considerably worse for Dorian was _Bull._ The flirting from him hadn't stopped, and Dorian would almost put money on the fact that Bull was doing it _more._ It caused Dorian far more trouble than he'd care to admit, both from the blush that seemed to creep onto his cheeks every time, and from the Amaryllis petals that escaped his lips far too often. He had to be so careful with his flowers, the moment anyone with any magic knowledge saw them, they'd immediately understand his ailment, and he was not prepared to answer, or be asked, any such questions on the matter.

He was lucky, though, for those few weeks of travel. Aside from his initial outpouring of hyacinth, of _jealousy,_ his lungs were, gratefully, being particularly forgiving. The petals that clung to the back of this throat and settled on his tongue were easy to hide, easy to destroy. And besides, thanks to the ever-present foliage in Crestwood (and the Hinterlands, for that matter), a stray bloom of a yellow tulip strewn underfoot wasn't going to look out of place. 

Dorian didn't begrudge Ffion for choosing to bring both him and Bull along with her on most missions, she was very close with the both of them: Bull was able to bring out her rambunctious spirit in two seconds flat, and Dorian had found a kindred spirit in her. They had the same magical specialty and seemed to always be in competition, coupled with the fact she matched his sense of humour and his sass, he didn't think it would be too far fetched of an idea to say she was his best friend. But he knew a small part of her invited the pair of them for Dorian's sake. She'd been able to pry almost all the details out of him of his 'arrangement' with Bull, so he knew she thought she was doing him a favour. And in most senses, she was. He wanted so much to be close to Bull as much as he could, regardless of the vines that crept up his throat, the ever-present reminder of what happens when he got too close. 

But, Dorian didn't care. The more Dorian pretended to hide from his feelings, the closer he found himself wanting to be. 

Bull definitely noticed Dorian's lingering stares at him, of hungry eyes that looked away a fraction too late, his sharp intakes of breath when Bull flexed in _just_ the right way. And Bull was _relentless._ He'd make a comment every chance he could, making Dorian scoff and spit insults that were barely that, to try and cover the blush that rose to the tips of his ears. He noticed how Dorian would cough into his palm and turn to hide his face, the teasing and embarrassment seemingly to always be too much for Dorian. 

But Dorian couldn't let him know the truth, that he had to turn away from the man he _loved_ just to hide the traitorous flowers. Dorian never wanted to stop looking at Bull. But looking at Bull was sometimes just too much for his heart _and his chest_ to bear. 

* * *

Their remaining time in Crestwood was largely uneventful, though they spent an embarrassing total of three days and four nights trying to bring back a Dalish child's pet cat. Though Dorian, Bull, and Cassandra found the task infuriating and bothersome, none of them voiced their concerns to the Inquisitor. After all, it was certainly a rare sight to see a Dalish child out and about in those parts, so no one begrudged Ffion wanting to do her utmost to keep the child happy. 

Dorian was immensely grateful for their resting situation, too; they thankfully never seemed to stray too far from Caer Bronach, so it was easy enough for them to return to the fortress most evenings, so that they could at least east a proper meal, and rest in a very sub-standard bed (though Dorian mused that at least it was a damn sight better than a bedroll on the floor).

Though that also meant Dorian had no reason to (nor the willpower) so reject Bull's advances. It took only a suggestive raise of an eyebrow from Bull over a bowl of bland stew for Dorian to be in his bed barely an hour later. Dorian would leave Ffion and Cassandra in a hurry, not leaving _nearly_ enough time after Bull left, and he'd receive a knowing wink from Ffion, and a raised eyebrow in confusion from Cassandra.

Aside from the minor cleanup, the rest of their time remaining in Crestwood was as uneventful as they’d all hoped. Though Dorian mused that the word ‘minor’ should be used sparingly: traipsing back and forth through the region on the ill-mannered whims of people who did _not_ show enough gratitude shouldn’t be called minor. But he kept his mouth shut: he knew they’d all be feeling the same, the Inquisitor especially. There were far too many comments made about how they were ‘surprised to see that the Inquisitor was _actually_ an Elf’, and although the ‘nasty Vint’ comments aimed at Dorian were hurtful to a degree, they were at least partially warranted in that opinion. There were many times though that he had to be held back by Bull, his anger nearly bubbling over at the unsuspecting Crestwood residents who had very obviously never seen an elf as an equal, let _alone_ as someone in a position of power. And though the taste of Peony and _anger_ was clear on his tongue, Bull’s firm hand was enough to make him swallow his pride. Though, on reflection, it wasn’t his own pride he was fighting for, and perhaps… he had to admit to himself that stepping in on her behalf would have caused more damage than it helped fix.

Thankfully their time wandering to and from Caer Bronach had come to an end after they had tried to _thoroughly_ convince Ffion there was nothing left for them to do. She had begrudgingly agreed, though as was her nature, had promised to return should anything further arise that needed her attention. The citizens of Crestwood were confused by her generosity, though it clearly didn’t take much kindness from an authority figure for them to be grateful, even if that kindness was from an Elf. 

But Dorian was finally grateful to be heading back to Skyhold. Well, more specifically, he was grateful to be heading back to his beloved _bath salts._ He knew they didn’t have long to rest and recuperate before their excursion to the Western Approach, so he wanted to get in all the precious time he could relaxing in his bath before what he could only assume would be a less than satisfying excursion to the sandy plains of the Western Approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers referenced in this chapter & the meanings used: 
> 
> Freesia - Childish/immature  
> Rhododendron - Warning  
> Amaryllis - Shy  
> Yellow tulip - One sided love  
> Peony - Anger


	3. Manifestation of Glory

True to his assumptions, the Western Approach was, in fact, arguably the most horrid place Dorian had visited in his life thus far. He knew the desert plains were hot, but he wasn't prepared for exactly how _stifling_ the place would be. He was used to hotter weather, Tevinter had its fair share during the more humid months of the year, but Minrathous had nothing on this arid wasteland. At least during the warmer weather back home, Dorian could submerge himself in a cool bath, or laze about, naked on a _chaise longue_ whilst he fanned cooled air onto himself. But here, it was horrid. The so-called breeze did nothing to cool his sun-baked skin: the air was hot, and the wind provided barely any respite.

And the sand, Maker, the _sand_. Dorian was fairly convinced he'd be rubbing sand off himself for weeks to come, finding it in places no sand ought to ever be found. And naturally, Dorian being Dorian, found every moment to complain about his displeasure, and Bull found _every_ moment to shoot him a retort.

"You know Dorian, at least you'll be more aware of the areas you clean from now on."

Dorian scoffed at him in response, "As if you're one to comment about a person's cleaning habits. I can smell you from over here."

"Oh? Has it turned you on yet?" Bull shot him a smirk, and Dorian was too slow in averting his gaze, the blush creeping onto his cheeks despite his ever-growing discomfort.

"You are impossible, Bull."

Mercifully, although Dorian had been spending a large chunk of time so close to Bull, he hadn't really had much time to actually _think_ about him. After they'd returned from their previous outing to Crestwood, Ffion wasted no time in getting them prepared for this trip; she'd already had their requisitions put together whilst they were away from Skyhold, so there hadn't been much left to do upon their return except for preparing themselves personally.

It was strange though, for Dorian, watching Ffion saying goodbye to Commander Cullen. He'd had many conversations with the Inquisitor about her budding romance with her Advisor, and he equally had shared some of his own stories of woe surrounding their Qunari friend. But watching her at the gates of Skyhold, their lingering stares at each other that no one else quite noticed (except the Bull, probably), made Dorian realise how lucky he was, and how much Ffion cared for him. Since Ffion realised Dorian's feelings for Bull, she had invited both of them on almost all of the Inquisition's outings that she could. There were times where she'd had other objectives for Bull and the Chargers, so it was impossible for him to join, but she'd always apologised profusely to Dorian because of it anyway. And of course, Dorian would roll his eyes and pass off the apology, reminding her how silly she was being. They were all eventually preparing for what felt like a war, so, naturally, she needed to send her best assets on the jobs best suited to them. 

But there in that moment, with the four of them sat huddled around a fire, Dorian couldn't escape the reality of how dangerous the situation actually was for him. The comment Bull made was nothing out of sorts, no different to any of his usual flirting, but it caught Dorian completely off guard, with no time to prepare.

"You love it, Dorian, admit it."

Dorian froze as he let out a shaky breath, and felt his chest constrict achingly quickly. He couldn't bear to look up and see the concern on the faces of his companions, but once he heard Cole start speaking, the pain in his chest turned quickly to nausea.

"The flowers, they hurt... vines creeping up the throat, scratching until it bleeds, they grow and constrict, until you can't breathe around them. The petals, they mean things, but you ignore them... coughing and hiding and destroying. I cannot be seen, not by him, never by him—"

Dorian stood abruptly and stared down at Cole with a look of horror, his chest still clenching painfully, threatening to spill. He covered his mouth with a hand and turned on his heel, abruptly marching away from the campsite. He knew Ffion would understand what Cole's ramblings meant, vague as they were, and he wasn't prepared to stay and face her pity. This was the scenario he'd been trying desperately to avoid, but he knew deep down that he would be found out eventually. He just wasn't expecting it to be so _soon._ He'd marched away from the camp with just the thought of _getting away_ , but he still had some sense about him: he needed to put some distance between them, but in his rush, he was without his staff, so he knew it was probably best if he at least kept fairly close to the camp. He crossed a portion of the desert and ducked behind a large boulder once he was sure he was out of earshot, then dropped to his knees and doubled over, his lungs finally spilling their contents as he coughed up wilting hydrangeas. Tears clung to the corners of his eyes as he struggled to breathe through the onslaught, but the fit finally started to subside, and he gulped strained lungfuls of air, trying his best to slow his heart rate. 

He'd barely registered the footsteps that had approached him from behind, but he hadn't managed to calm himself down enough to find the energy to acknowledge them. And in that moment of misery, he wasn't necessarily sure he _wanted_ to acknowledge them, but they'd already made that decision for him.

Ffion sighed behind him, then he heard her move to crouch near him, making sure to keep well away from the flowers. He knew she probably wasn't at risk of being infected by them (since Cullen seemed to share her affections), but he still didn't want her getting close. "Oh Dorian, vhenan, how long have you been like this?"

He took a few more deep breaths then turned to look at her, offering her a weak smile. "It's been a while, though I'd hoped to have kept it from you a while longer." He paused to readjust himself to sit his back against the sandstone boulder. "Did Bull..." He didn't finish the question but Ffion was quick in her understanding.

"I told him it was nothing to worry about, and scolded Cole too for you." She repositioned herself to sit opposite him and crossed her legs, staying far enough away from the flowers strewn across the sand that Dorian didn't have to yell at her. "I wish you'd told me about it, Dor. I might not be able to help but you don't have to bear this suffering alone."

Dorian gave a short laugh as he followed her movements, then glanced down at his flowers and plucked one between his fingers, idly twisting it as he spoke. "In the Imperium, this disease is mostly talked about as if it doesn't exist, there's not much room for love in that hierarchical mess. But oh how they'd love to catch a whiff of this. Dorian, Altus of the great House Pavus, reduced to _this,_ and over a Qunari no less. I know I enjoy making rather grand statements but this is a bit much, even for me." He burned the bloom between his fingers into dust and gave Ffion a gloomy smile. "I know I'm a very prideful man but this," he gestured to the partially withered blooms, "is just insulting. It's as if my body is trying to tell me that my pride has been damaged." He laid his hand on top of the majority of the rest of the blooms and similarly ignited them, very swiftly leaving barely a trace. "Well, I'll be the one to decide that, and I'd say my pride is very much intact, thank you very much." 

Ffion smiled and leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, supported by her knee. "Have you... considered getting it removed? The bud, I mean. I'm sure there's a healer in Skyhold who's had at least a little experience with this."

He paused for a moment, as if in thought. "Ffion, dear, do you know the consequence of having these flowers forcibly removed?"

She raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head.

"Removing the wretched flowers isn't all that happens. You immediately lose all the feelings you had for the person who... caused your affliction."

"Is that not better than dying because of it? Dorian, you know that there are only three outcomes to this. And if you've already ruled out one of them..."

"Would you do it? Would you choose to stop loving Cullen to save yourself? I can't, Fi. He... he means too much to me now. If that means we know how my life will end then so be it, I wouldn't be able to quite stand myself if I made any other decision."

Ffion nodded solemnly, unable and unwilling to argue: after all, she knew he was right. Instead, she tried to lighten his mood, "I never took you for a romantic, Dor, I thought all you _Vints_ were supposed to be heartless?" 

Dorian snorted at her sudden change in attitude, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. "I think I've been around Southerners too long, their _feelings_ are starting to run off on me."

"You and me both, Dor. I'm almost certainly going to be sick of humans by the time this is all over." She winked at him, then jumped to her feet in one swift movement, and held out her hand to him. "We should go back to the camp, okay? Neither of us have our staves like the dumbasses we are, and I'd rather not get picked on by a group of drakes if we can help it."

Dorian rolled his eyes, and did a once-over of himself to check for any stray petals, and satisfied he'd caught them all, he reached out to grasp her hand and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet. Ffion didn't give him much time to adjust before she fell forward and wrapped her arms around him in an almost bone-crushing hug. Dorian made a mental note to ask her about her strength at some point, but at that moment, he was grateful for the contact. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, then pulled away after a few moments.

"Let’s head back to camp, shall we? It would be awfully rude of us to deny the pair of them our company any longer."

She nodded at him and pulled away, and they made their way back to the camp, hand in hand.

Bull watched them closely as they approached, his expression betraying nothing as usual, but Dorian felt Ffion give his hand a squeeze before she moved into the spot on the floor she'd set up for herself previously. Cole was nowhere to be found which was weird, but Bull didn't seem worried about it so Dorian ignored the thought.

Ffion spoke from her place on the floor as she laid her staff across her lap. "You should both go and rest, it's my turn to watch, and I'll call Cole when I get too tired." She narrowed her eyes at Dorian when he didn't immediately move. "Go. Shoo. Off with you."

Dorian rolled his eyes and sighed, "If you insist, it would be a shame to miss out on my beauty sleep, though Maker knows I don't require it." He hesitated before he moved, though, and spared a glance at Bull. He was being watched carefully, but Dorian felt like he was being _examined._ It made his breath catch in his throat, and for once it wasn't his flowers that caused it. He turned and marched away before the blush could form across his cheeks, but once he reached the tents, he climbed very purposefully into Bull's.

Bull caught the glimpse of Dorian entering his tent and he let out a short laugh, "You're not going to tell me anything, are you boss?"

Ffion shook her head, "No I won't. And I recommend you not ask him about it either. It's a mage thing, you're best just leaving it at that."

Bull sighed and pulled himself up off the ground. "I hate your magic crap, just hit someone hard enough with a hammer and you won't need your fancy sparkles." He smiled down at Ffion and grabbed his Axe, "Night, Boss. You, uh, might want to stuff something in your ears for a little while." He winked at her as he left, catching her exclaim "Gross!" before he disappeared into his tent after Dorian.

Dorian had already started removing his armour pieces when Bull ducked his head through the tent, and Dorian bit back a sigh of relief. He hadn't necessarily sent any signals to Bull, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have been disappointed if he'd been completely ignored. He watched carefully as Bull seated himself on the bedroll then went back to undoing the buckles of his arm piece with intent. He found his voice whilst working through the meticulous un-buckling, and prayed to the Maker that his tone wouldn't waver.

"You know, I wasn't quite sure if this would be alright tonight, considering that outrageous display earlier, though I suppose we need to have more talks with Cole about rooting around inside our heads—"

"Dorian." Bull's tone was firm and Dorian felt something stir deep within him. "Come here."

Dorian practically crawled into Bull's lap, and he'd smashed their mouths together into a heated kiss in record time, his heart fluttering at the firm hands on his waist, and his mind momentarily flashed back to his earlier conversation with Ffion.

How could he ever even entertain the idea of giving up these feelings? 

* * *

They'd packed up early the next morning, much to Dorian's dismay. He'd woken earlier than Bull and was delighted to have an arm draped around him: holding him in place, curled up against Bull's side, his head resting on the Qunari's shoulder. Dorian didn't dare move, he'd wanted to savour this moment for as long as possible but _clearly_ the Inquisitor had other ideas. She'd called for them to wake up long before Dorian wanted to move, and he felt Bull's chest rumble with laughter under his arm.

"I don't think we want to ignore her for long, Dorian. Unless you want her getting fed up and coming in here, which we both know she will." Bull opened his eye and gestured down at their general lack of clothing, which Dorian huffed at.

"It would serve her right for barging in on us." Nevertheless, he'd pulled himself up from Bull's embrace, immediately missing the warmth despite how _hot_ it was, and he'd responded to her with an annoyed shout whilst the pair of them dressed themselves. Dorian was almost at his wits end with the sand, having to shake off every item of clothing before he put it on, but after Bull placed a comforting hand on his back, he almost managed to forget his complaints.

Almost.

He was fairly certain now that the Inquisitor had a death wish. They'd run into the High Dragon late that afternoon, that is, if 'run into' meant they'd heard her screech from across the desert then had to follow Bull as he'd run off to take a closer look at her. Dorian was far from pleased at the prospect of _seeing_ the Dragon, let alone of _fighting_ the thing. But Bull was persuasive (which Dorian was well aware of), and once Ffion had that glint in her eye there was no stopping her. Even if that glint meant they were going to try and kill a _fucking Dragon_. 

It was too late that day to even entertain the idea, so Ffion had the group observe the Dragon's movements for a while, before setting up camp a bit further away. The screeches from the Dragon in the background were unsettling at best, and it was a test of Dorian's patience watching Bull: all the Qunari wanted to do was bolt right up to the nest and do... whatever it was Bull did. But thankfully Ffion had all but ordered him to stay put, and Dorian was fairly sure that even Bull knew he wouldn't be able to take on a Dragon by himself. He _wasn't_ convinced that Bull wouldn't give it a bloody good go though, which in itself was a horrifying thought. Bull had stayed put that evening though, which they were all grateful for, (well, he assumed Cole was grateful: that boy was still a mystery to Dorian), and they'd spent much of that evening devising battle strategies for a few different eventualities. 

Those strategies, as it quickly became apparent, turned out rather useless to them. They'd managed to get way in over their heads, and even with Bull as strong as he was they felt like they were fighting a losing battle. Both Dorian and Ffion were Necromancy mages and were usually able to be perfectly in sync with each other, but the longer this battle dragged on, the more they started stepping on each other's toes. The fight was gruelling, and since Bull was bearing the brunt of it, they all could tell he was starting to feel worse for wear: his movements started slowing, and although Cole was in range for some small measure of backup, it wasn't enough. But they managed to persevere, and after Maker knows how long, the Dragon finally started showing signs of defeat. Her left wing was so far damaged she wasn't able to take flight anymore, and that gave them the respite they needed to launch their final barrage.

But Bull was running out of steam, and was a moment too late to avoid her talons as she slashed them clean across his chest, the force of the burst of adrenaline in her final moments enough to send him tumbling across the plains.

And then her screeches went quiet, Cole had finally been able to position himself at the top of her neck, and had forced both his knives straight into her skull. A weak, final burst of flame erupted from her maw before she finally slumped to the group, Cole jumping off her and rolling away out of reach. It took all of Dorian's energy to not drop to one knee in exhaustion, but through his panting and his vision blurring, Ffion’s cry of Bull’s name made Dorian’s blood run cold. His eyes focused on Bull’s form slumped on the ground, unmoving, and Dorian couldn’t stop himself: even though his overwhelming tiredness he ran towards Bull, coughing up whole marigolds as he did. He retained enough sense to stand slightly away until the torrent of blooms subsided, and Ffion now knelt beside Bull, glanced warily at Dorian.

His coughing finally subsided, though when he settled in front of Bull he was acutely aware of the vines in this throat, threatening to set him off again if he even so much as breathed incorrectly. It was a struggle for Dorian to keep himself calm, he could feel the panic bubbling in his belly as he surveyed Bull and assessed the damage, hardly paying attention to Ffion as she tried to calm him down. Neither of them were particularly well versed in healing magic, but as he watched her pull some salves out of her pack he was glad at least one of _them_ was prepared, regardless of how warily he eyed the clearly Elven balms. He trusted her, though, and as he watched the blood in the wounds slowly coagulate, he found himself finally able to breathe a little easier. 

Ffion sighed heavily opposite him, “We still need to get him back to the camp, Dor, and he’s too big and we’re too exhausted to even consider carrying him.”

Dorian pondered for a moment, and as his eyes settled on one of the dead Dragonlings around its mother’s corpse, he _knew_ that would be the only idea that was going to work. “Let’s reanimate one of the Dragonlings and carry him back on that.”

Ffion gave him an incredulous look and raised her eyebrow at him, “Dor, neither of us are in a fit state to reanimate _anything_ right now, let alone something that size and for that long.” 

“If it’s for him, I can manage it. Besides, I don’t think we have any other options here, not from what I’m seeing at least.” 

Ffion clicked her tongue loudly and Dorian could tell she was trying desperately to find a solution that didn’t require draining Dorian’s already depleted mana, but when she dropped her shoulders and sighed, he knew she hadn’t been able to find anything. “Fine, Dorian. But you have to stop if it gets too much.” 

Dorian winked at her and took a deep breath, then they got to work. It was far more difficult than they’d planned to manoeuver Bull onto the now-animated Dragonling, especially with him still unconscious and twice the size of the three of them. Dorian was _exhausted,_ and trying to keep control of his magic at the same time as the physical exertion was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But they managed it, and the three of them made the trek back to the camp, Dragonling and Bull in tow. 

It took them longer than it should have to reach back at the camp, but there were many times Dorian nearly fell to his knees from the fatigue, so in the end he was supported by Cole for the remainder of the journey back. 

As soon as they were near enough to the camp, Dorian was finally able to release his magic and drop to the floor, Cole allowing him down as gently as possible. 

“It’s getting harder to breathe, now. Less time between the attacks and it’s getting worse. It’s killing you, _he’s_ killing you… but you won’t let anyone make it stop.”

“That’s... quite enough, Cole,” Dorian managed to croak out through tired breaths. 

“But I don’t understand. I _want_ to understand.”

“I don’t think you can. Not having these feelings... it would hurt just the same as I’m hurting now.”

“But it wouldn’t hurt, you wouldn’t feel anything. The pain would be gone, you’d be free.”

“It’s the idea of ‘not feeling anything’ that hurts now, Cole. I can’t imagine it and, quite frankly, don’t want to imagine it. 

“I said the wrong things again. I’m sorry. I wanted to help, but I pulled too much.”

“It’s quite alright, Cole. Just, help me to the fire so I can sit for a moment.”

Dorian watched as a few Soldiers and healers scrambled around Bull and managed to haul him into a tent, and he felt a little relief seeing the Inquisitor filling in one of the Healers. Now that they were back at camp, safe, Dorian knew Bull would be fine. But that still didn't stop the small, niggling feeling at the back of his mind, nor did it stop the constant presence of the vine tickling the back of his throat. He needed to see Bull get better, only then would Dorian be able to relax. He sat by the fire and dozed for a while, and was vaguely aware of someone handing him a drop of a lyrium potion to help with his mana fatigue. He was immediately grateful: as the rejuvenating effects kicked in he was able to blink back the exhaustion and take stock of his surroundings again. He didn't think much time had passed, but the majority of the Healers were outside Bull's tent now, so Dorian assumed Bull was out of danger and mostly on the mend. 

Dorian took in a deep breath and pulled himself up from the floor, using his staff to steady him, and made his way to Bull's tent. Ffion spared him a glance from where she was talking deeply with one of the officers, but she made no move to stop him and simply nodded once at him. 

He ducked through the opening and paused for a moment to look over Bull's sleeping form: there was a thin sheet covering him but Dorian could surmise that the wound had mostly been closed, but Bull's face was contorted into a grimace regardless. Dorian felt his throat constrict but he pushed through, swallowing down the taste of gardenia as he moved carefully around the tent. He didn't even bother to remove the majority of his armour, he was far too exhausted to make that decision, so he lay down next to Bull and rested his head on his own arm, then pressed his forehead into the top of Bull's bicep. 

He was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers referenced in this chapter & the meanings used: 
> 
> Hydrangeas - Pride (I had them as wilted to show his pride is broken)  
> Marigolds - Grief  
> Gardenia - Secret love


	4. Lament of Resolution

When Dorian next woke up, he was enveloped in warmth: his body had been pulled close to Bull's during the night, and his head lay comfortably on Bull's bicep, not quite as soft as a pillow but _vastly_ preferable for Dorian. He felt Bull's arm curled around him whilst his hand traced lazy circles on Dorian's back, and for a few, blissful moments, Dorian forgot entirely where he was. He sighed, once again content in that moment, able to doze next to the man he _loved_ without interruption. He shifted slightly and sighed at the featherlight touches on his back: if anyone had told him months ago that this giant Qunari was capable of such softness he would have scoffed and called them insane. But here he was, safe and warm in the presence of that same Qunari.

"Did I wake you, Dorian?" 

The rumble deep in Bull's chest as he spoke was comforting, and Dorian shifted a fraction closer to press his entire body against Bull's as he did. "Not at all, though at least I get to lay next to you for a while without interruption, now." 

Bull chuckled, and the movement was soothing to Dorian, something he could never have anticipated. "You're soft in your half-awake state, Dorian. For a Vint."

"Hmm, couldn't bear to leave off that last part could you." 

"Definitely not."

There were a few moments of pleasant silence before Bull spoke again, and Dorian half wished he hadn't. 

"Hell of a fight that Dragon, wasn't she?" 

Dorian felt like he'd been punched in the stomach as the memories of their battle the previous day flooded back to him, and he bolted upright with a start, panic written over his face. He surveyed Bull's torso which was bandaged up, and let out a breath when he was happy with how the healers had patched him up. But the sight of Bull with bandages around his chest, and the flood of memories from the battle were too much for him to bear. Dorian shuffled away from Bull as he felt his chest constrict, then doubled over and expelled his blooms into the corner of the tent. A mix of primrose, bluebell and white heather, coated in his blood and shame: a cruel reminder of how desperate his feelings for Bull were. 

Bull sat up and made a move towards Doran, but he stuck a hand out, hoping Bull would get the message and stay back. Bull complied, but he watched Dorian carefully as he hacked up the remaining petals and gasped for air. He allowed himself time to properly catch his breath and stared at the petals with all the malice he could muster in his state. Still trying to suck in gulps of air, he turned to Bull and weakly smiled, "Please don't mind them it's...just a mage thing, nothing to worry about. I know how you are with all that after all."

Bull continued to hold his gaze steady, his expression unchanging as Dorian found himself being pulled apart under Bull's watchful eyes. Dorian cleared his throat (and was eternally thankful it was petal free), then turned his attention back to the pile of blood-soaked flowers at his knees. He took another deep breath and hovered his hand over them to ignite them, being careful to control the flames and not catch the corner of the tent: that would be... disastrous. The petals burned into dust, and after Dorian was completely sure there were none left to _infect_ anyone, he let out a heavy breath. He didn't want to look at Bull, not now, not _here,_ not after _that_ , but of course Bull wouldn't allow that. Dorian felt Bull move towards him and he tried to slow his breathing, but the lingering effect from his lungs was _impossible_ to control. He felt Bull’s warm hand on his back but he flinched slightly, unintentionally, and he heard Bull hum low in his chest. 

“I won’t ask you about it, Dorian, if that’s what you want. But this can’t be good for you, Mage crap or otherwise.” 

Dorian tasted rotten Chrysanthemum on his tongue, a testament to his guilt at hiding the truth from Bull but he couldn’t bear to reveal it: he was too raw, too unwilling to open himself up to the one person who could save him from himself. But it was fine. _He_ was fine, but that was a lie he was finding it harder and harder to convince himself of. 

“It’s fine Bull, really. I’m sorry you had to see that display, awfully uncouth of me, wasn’t it?” He turned himself to face Bull and gave an uneasy smile, “Now I am glad to see the healers didn’t make too much of a mess of you, well, more so than the Dragon did at least. Absolutely dreadful fight that was, I do hope our dear Inquisitor learns _not_ to be encouraged by you again.” 

Bull grinned at him in response, and Dorian was relieved that he had managed to shift the attention away from himself. Though deep down, he knew Bull understood exactly what the fear in his eyes meant.

"That fight was fucking incredible, Dorian. I'm going to need a few nights to myself back at Skyhold to properly come to terms with it. She was magnificent."

Dorian made a sound of disgust and rolled his eyes, trying very hard to _not_ think about Bull touching himself thinking about the fight - trying, and _failing._ "You're an absolute brute, I hope you know that. You nearly died, and yet here you are thinking about getting yourself off because of it. Outrageous."

"You think it's kinda hot though, right? Don't be shy, I'm recovered enough to go for a round. The healers did a damn good job of patching me up, you already pointed that out." Bull had already moved dangerously close to Dorian as he spoke, and Dorian felt his breath growing heavier, thankfully not because of an impending coughing fit. Bull’s hands gripped around his waist and all but hauled Dorian into his lap, and Dorian melted into Bull’s kisses down his neck. 

"Oh sweet Mythal's knickers, I did **not** want to see that so early in the morning."

Dorian froze at the voice from the opening of the tent and turned his head, smiling sheepishly at the Inquisitor, whose face showed nothing but (fake) disgust. 

“Perhaps that’ll teach you for barging into tents without announcing yourself first, Boss.” 

“We both know you heard me coming, Bull. And besides the point, this is the _Healer’s_ tent, not your personal up-to-no-good one.” She squinted her eyes at Dorian and stuck her tongue out at Bull, “Since you do seem fine, Bull, both of you get your arses out here to free up that tent. And so we can talk about _what in the name of Fen’Harel happened yesterday._ ” She glared at them both again, then disappeared again, purposefully stomping her feet to make her point heard. 

Dorian sighed and looked back to Bull, his arms resting around Bull’s neck, and, despite himself, he laughed. “Well that certainly seems to have dampened that particular mood, hasn’t it.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Bull’s and sighed, feeling Bull’s thumbs stroke slow circles on his hips underneath his chestpiece. “I truly was worried, Bull. I’m thankful we were close enough to the camp that I could pull some extra mana out of my arse to get you back here.” 

“So the Vint was worried about the Qunari, was he?”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

“Though I’m intrigued as to how you actually got me here though, you didn’t possess me, did you? Fucking mage crap…” 

Dorian rolled his eyes and sighed, “I didn’t _possess you_ , Bull. _I_ don’t do the possessing. But I think that’s a story for another time, and against my better judgement, Ffion is quite right: we’ve overstayed our welcome here. Since apparently you’ll be perfectly fine after a few more days of _not_ getting mauled by a Dragon. You absolute brute...” Dorian begrudgingly extracted himself out of Bull’s lap and stood to stretch out his tired muscles, and managed to take in a particularly easy breath.

Perhaps the multitude of flowers that poured out of him earlier were a sign that things were easing, that his lungs were taking pity on him. But deep down he knew better. He knew that the blood was the sign of it getting _worse,_ not _better._ This was the calm before the storm, and Dorian was terrified.

* * *

His fear wasn’t aided by the absolute horror that was the siege at Adamant, and of course, what came after. The preparations had taken a few weeks to get everything in place: after all, they were laying _siege_ to the Fortress, and that sort of manpower took more than a few days to traverse all the way from Skyhold. Which meant, thankfully, Bull had more time to recover from his injuries, though he was _convinced_ he was perfectly fine after only two days of rest. And as convincing as he was, they all knew they needed to be in their best shape for the siege. 

But even their best shape wasn’t enough. The Fade was… awful. Not that _awful_ really gave way to the full scope of what it was, but Dorian didn’t really get a chance to… process it. He’d had his own version of a Harrowing when he was younger, so the Fade wasn’t completely foreign to him, but they were _physically_ transported there, and that’s what had truly terrified Dorian. 

But, that being said, he still wasn’t sure how to process each turn of events that happened far too much in succession, so once they all knew they were _safe_ and had debriefed with Cullen, Dorian needed an outlet. The Iron Bull was there to provide. 

Dorian wasn’t necessarily proud of how he threw himself at Bull night after night during their return trek to Skyhold, but Bull was safe and familiar, irrelevant to the fact he was the reason Dorian was slowly dying. But Dorian’s fate was eventually sealed around a week before they returned to Skyhold. Dorian was wrapped in Bull’s arms, safe and secure, when he was overcome with the singular realisation that he was running out of time. Not just with his time with Bull, but his life. He felt a wave of nausea as he pulled away from a kiss, but the petals caught him first.

He scrambled away from Bull with just enough time to spare before an onslaught of forget-me-nots, and more worryingly, red camellias, forced their way out of his lungs. Dorian’s chest heaved in pain, but still he raised a hand to keep Bull well away from this… mess. 

He didn’t plan on the Inquisitor hearing him, though. She’d poked her head through and stepped inside their tent as she heard the coughing, and as Dorian looked up at her to shoo her away, she was staring in horror at the camellia blooms. She knew what they meant, of course she did. But Dorian didn’t give her the time to voice her concerns, or, well, anything really, before he had very sternly asked her to leave. The look she gave him turned his stomach: the tears and pity in her eyes spoke volumes.

She knew now as well as he did, that he didn’t have much time left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers referenced in this chapter & the meanings used:
> 
> Primrose - Desperate  
> Bluebell - Grateful  
> White heather - Wishes coming true  
> Chrysanthemum - Truth (rotten to symbolise a lie)  
> Forget-me-nots - True love  
> Red camellia - Perishing with grace


	5. Painless Salvation

It had been a month since their return from siege at Adamant, and Ffion had started to restrict what missions she was allowing Dorian to accompany her on. Although he was confident he was perfectly capable of handling himself regardless, they both knew he was going to continually get weaker. And if Dorian couldn’t handle keeping _himself_ safe, then he could potentially endanger the rest of the party which, during these times of increasing conflict, no one could allow. Least of all Dorian himself. 

But, he was grateful he was still allowed on shorter excursions for a time, though Ffion had been making a point to send Bull and the Chargers on longer and more frequent missions. Dorian didn't need to question the Inquisitor as to why: the weaker Dorian became, both in body and in magic, the more Bull would notice. It wouldn't surprise Dorian if Bull, with his Ben Hassrath training, already realised Dorian was declining rapidly in health. But if he noticed, he hadn't voiced any concerns aside from whatever Dorian and Ffion shoo'd aside as 'just a dodgy mage thing.' 

Dorian was running out of time, though, and after the few weeks of a considerably lighter workload, he coughed up his first red spider lily. There was no mistaking it, nor was there any hiding it from Ffion: her pesky Elf eyes honed in on the death flower quicker than even Dorian's did. 

"Dorian…" 

He could barely wheeze out his response as his breath shorted to an impossible degree, allowing him only the most shallow of breaths. "Please... don't." 

Dorian had known since coughing up his very first petals that he was going to die from this disease. He just hadn't counted on dying without being able to say goodbye to The Iron Bull, though. But perhaps that was penance for his hubris: he'd never explained to Bull the _intricacies_ of his affliction, so he'd never even given Bull a chance to reflect on them.

It was no matter now, though.

Dorian Pavus was ready to die. 

* * *

The Iron Bull was fed up: fed up of people hiding things from him and _lying_ to him, hiding behind the guise of 'stupid magical shit he wouldn't understand'. It irked him to no end: he knew it wasn't an issue of trust, they'd proved that time and time again by putting their lives in his hands, but of something... different. And Bull fucking hated it. 

He'd been sent on yet another mission with the Chargers this month, not that he didn't revel in the chance to spend some quality time with his boys, but this was almost definitely a mission that Krem could have handled himself. Bull was being pushed away, and he couldn't work out _why._ He had a feeling it had something to do with the flowers that kept choking Dorian, though, and all magic and shit aside, he was adamant to find out what the fuck it meant. 

The Chargers had set themselves up a camp for the evening and the group of them were sat, each with some ale in hand and an atmosphere that could only be cultivated by the seven of them. But Bull was restless, and as he looked over to Dalish, he finally made up his mind.

"Hey Dalish, since you're a mage and all–"

"I'm not a mage."

"–can you answer a question for me?”

She sighed and shook her head, but looked back at Bull thoughtfully. “I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

Bull hummed and nodded, “ What does it mean when flowers get coughed up by a Mage?”

The look she gave him made him very, very nervous. A mix of pity, understanding, and _fear._ “I can already guess who you’ve done this to and I feel very sorry for him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The disease of unreturned love. Horrible stuff, flowers take over your lungs until you eventually suffocate and die. Isn’t a pleasant death, not that I’d know.”

Bull felt the rage building inside him, Dorian had been dying this whole time, and they were _lying_ to him about it? He reached out to grab a section of log next to him and gripped it in his hand, tight enough for it to splinter and crack from the force. The rest of the chargers stopped their conversations to glance over at him, and Krem started at him, puzzled. 

“Hey chief, you alright over there?”

He ignored Krem and kept his attention on Dalish, “Dalish. What’s the cure?”

She sighed at him again and leaned in closer. “Have it removed, taking all the feelings with it, have his love returned and know it’s being returned, or die.”

Bull clamped his hand harder and the log all but split in half under the force. "I know which option he thinks he's chosen then."

"Chief?" 

Bull stood abruptly and grabbed his axe, looking around at the group as he affixed it to his back. "Krem you're in charge. I'm going back to Skyhold to beat some sense into that stupid fucking Vint."

"Gotcha, Chief. Don't hurt the poor sod too badly." 

Bull grunted his response, then turned on his heel and marched out of their camp without looking back. He had a sinking feeling deep in his gut, suddenly everything was making sense: the Inquisitor's sudden reluctance to take Dorian with her, her _insistence_ that Bull needed to go on Chargers missions. 

He had been kept out of the loop for too long. He needed to be back at Skyhold as fast as he could. 

* * *

For the last two days, Dorian had been moved to Ffion's quarters where she could better keep an eye on him in his rapidly declining state. She'd had two guards stationed outside the door to her quarters (to stop any nosy individual waltzing in unannounced), and had few healers on rotation that looked after him, who simply kept him comfortable more than anything. After all, he has still adamantly refused to have the infection removed, even now on what was basically his deathbed. She'd had Commander Cullen stay in the room with them a lot too, probably more for her benefit than anything else.

Dorian could see the hurt in her eyes whenever he coughed up a fresh spider lily, and although he knew she was _desperate_ for him to have it removed, he couldn't bear the thought of not loving Bull. Of not having _any_ feelings for Bull. There was a sick part of him that was almost _proud_ to die like this, to prove that even through everything he'd been through in his life, he was still able to die for the man he loved. 

Ffion was sat by his side in her grand bed, making idle conversation with Cullen and the other occupants as she gripped Dorian's hand with her own. He valued the warmth as his strength had all but left him now as he lay, breathing weakly as the vines continued to constrict, albeit so much faster now. 

There was a commotion at the door which caused everyone to snap their heads to the stairs: the panicked voices of the guards at the door, followed by a very gruff, _very familiar_ voice. The room was quiet as everyone strained to hear the commotion, but very shortly afterwards the door was slammed open, followed by hard, heavy footsteps up the stairs. 

Dorian felt sick, both with fear and anticipation: Dorian could tell Bull had found out about his condition, and for Dorian… Well, at least it meant he would be able to die having seen The Iron Bull one last time. Dorian's heart swelled as Bull's horns came into view, then he ducked in a ragged breath at how _furious_ he looked. He gripped Ffion's hand as tight as he could, and locked eyes with Bull.

"Everyone out." Bull didn't shift his gaze as his voice rumbled out in the room, and everyone else in the room looked to Ffion.

Her ears twitched as she realised they were waiting for her, "Why are you all looking at me? You heard the man. Out, all of you." 

The rest of the occupants scrambled past Bull once she'd spoken, and Cullen placed a hand on Bull's arm before he, too, exited the room. Ffion leaned over and pressed a kiss to Dorian's temple, and whispered into his ear, "Ar lath, ma vhenan. I love you Dorian, don't hold anything back from him now, okay?" 

She shifted out of the bed and walked towards Bull and followed Cullen's action, she placed her hand on Bull's arm and looked up at him solemnly. He glanced down at her for a moment and nodded, "I'll talk with you later, boss." 

She squeezed his arm and moved past him, and Dorian saw her cast him a lingering glance before she disappeared down the stairs out of sight, the soft click of the door closing behind her the only noise left in the room. 

There was a moment where neither of them spoke and Dorian tried his upmost to look anywhere except at Bull, but his eyes always wandered back. He wanted to burn Bull's image into his mind before he died, and that thought alone was enough to force his lungs into action: he hacked up another spider lily and deposited it in a bucket to the side of the bed, igniting it immediately. 

"Awfully annoying things, these. I wasn't expecting to see you back so soo—"

"Cut the crap, Dorian."

Dorian winced at how clipped Bull's tone was and he forced himself to sit up further in the bed, his arms almost too weak to push himself up but he managed, trying anything not to look at Bull. He didn't want to see the understanding, the _fury_ in his face. He wasn't ready for that to be directed at him, not here, not _now._ He stared down into his hands and fought for the words, wanting anything but this silence.

"Well then, I assume by how angry you are and how you came straight to me that you've been told about my condition?"

Bull almost _growled_ low in his chest. "Yes, Dorian. I eventually asked Dalish about it because none of you fucking mages would _tell_ me."

"Yes we'll, it's an awfully horrible thing to g—"

"Stop. I want you to tell me, Dorian."

"Pardon?"

"Tell me what's happening to you."

""Well I assume you already know if Dalish has told you?"

"I want to hear it from you. I want to hear _what is happening to you."_

A shiver ran down Dorian's spine, he wasn’t being let off easily and honestly,he knew he didn’t deserve to be. But that still didn’t make this any easier. “I’m dying, Bull. I have been for a while. These flowers are-” His breath caught in his throat, “They’re suffocating me, and I don’t have long left.”

“Why did you hide this from me? From _everyone?”_

“Because that would lead down a rabbit sized hole into my personal life that I wasn’t quite willing to share with the entire Inquisition, Bull.”

“Why did you keep it from me?”

Dorian sighed, and finally looked up to Bull, now hovering at the foot of the bed. “It was… complicated, Bull. The reason this disease manifests in the first place is…”

“Tell me. I want you to say it, Dorian. I want you to tell me why you are suffering like this.”

Dorian lowered his gaze back down to his hands and studied them intently. Bull obviously knew, so why was he so hellbent on torturing Dorian this much? Was it payback? Dorian didn’t think so, but he also couldn’t think of any other reason Bull was doing this to him. He was vaguely aware that Bull had moved closer to him again, and now stood directly next to the bed and loomed over him.”

“Dorian.”

“Vishante kaffas, it’s because I love you, Bull. I love you and I am dying because of it.” He snapped his head up to Bull and was taken aback by how _soft_ Bull’s expression was. 

Bull reached forward and gripped the front of Dorian’s purple silken tunic, effectively holding him in place, and leaned in close, then pressed his lips to Dorian’s. The breath was knocked out of Dorian’s lungs by the sheer _passion_ in the kiss, and Dorian was convinced that if he had died right then, he wouldn’t have been upset. The kiss was _almost_ enough to disillusion him into thinking Bull felt the same way, but he didn’t care in that moment. He weakly reached up and wrapped his arms around Bull’s neck, desperate to keep the contact for as long as he would manage it. That was, until Cole’s voice filled their ears which caused Dorian to jump and pull away, Bull’s grip on his tunic loosened. 

“The word… it’s always on his lips, at the tip of his tongue, he wants to say it, wants to use it, wants him to _know._ But it’s not the right time, never the right time. It’s just sex, he said. Nothing more, but he knows it’s more, it’s more to both of them but neither of them say it. Why don’t they say it? It’s here now, the word. The unspoken word that will solve everything and fix him and make him whole again. Kadan, kadan, kadan, _kadan.”_

Dorian can’t _breathe._ Not because of the buds or the flowers or the vines, but because he knows what that word means. What it means for Bull. What it means for _him._ He felt the vines at the back of his throat already shrinking, but he needed to be sure.

“T-this isn’t a trick, is it?”

“Cole doesn’t lie, Dorian. You took this burden upon yourself and put yourself through so much suffering for this supposed unrequited love.” 

Every breath was becoming easier for Dorian, but it still wasn’t enough. “Please say it, Bull. I need it from you.”

Bull leaned back in and kissed Dorian softly, nothing more than a peck, then cupped Dorian’s face with a large hand. “I love you, Dorian, my _Kadan._ ”

The constricting feeling in Dorian’s chest eased almost at once, and Dorian gasped in full, deep breaths that he hadn’t been able to take in months. He knew Bull was trying to soothe him through but all he could concentrate on in that moment were the lungfuls of air he could now take, unobstructed by flowers or vines. 

“I should have, ah, I should have trusted in you more. I’m sorry, Bull.”

Bull shook his head, “I get it, you and your stupid Vint pride got in the way.”

“And fear, it would have been devastating for my image if you’d rejected me.”

“You’re an fucking dumbass.”

Dorian _laughed,_ a loud, unabashed cackle that rang out in the room, and caused a stir that they could hear downstairs, hearing the door open and Ffion’s voice hesitantly call up.

“I love you, Kadan.

“Fasta vass you giant brute.” Dorian paused and placed his hand over Bull’s, still holding his cheek, and brought it to his mouth to kiss the palm of Bull’s hand. 

“I love you, Amatus” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers referenced in this chapter & the meanings used: 
> 
> Red spider lily - Synonymous with death. (I've seen this used in other fics to signify that they're about to die, so I thought this was a good place to use that!)

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adore the Hanahaki trope, it's so fun to explore, especially pairing it with flower meanings! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! I used one of my Inquisitors for this, and [here's](https://i.imgur.com/ZravAgP.png) an image of her if you're curious!  
> Please feel free to follow me on twitter [@clothhwaltz](https://twitter.com/clothhwaltz)!


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